The Seven Sides of Sickness
by wowsugarpuss
Summary: The night Joan is admitted to the hospital, seen from many different sides.


******1 am**

Sleep hadn't even occurred to Adam as he looked at the small – perfectly formed – gold button in his hand. Since he had left Joan in the hospital most of his time had been spent outside in his shed forcing pieces of metal to fit together, whether or not they wanted to. The force exhibited in his latest work would have scared someone like Helen who might have been able to understand them but his father figured that all Adam needed was some space. After all, his girlfriend was sick.

What Adam's father didn't know – what nobody else knew – was just how sick Joan was. And the fact that Adam would never tell anyone about her confession in the hospital cut him up just a little inside.

He knew that the sensible thing would be to mention it to someone like Helen – who would probably dismiss away his fears with a smile and say that it was just fever-dreaming – but somehow Adam just could not bring himself to betray Joan's confidence. Even if what she said were really the words of drugs that had been pumped through her blood. He hoped that they were just words fuelled by the drugs.

Whatever had caused her to tell him that exact thing at that exact moment didn't really matter in the end, what mattered was the way he reacted. And Adam had been mentally kicking himself since he uttered the words: "I believe you believe it."

At the time he thought it best not to placate her by simply giving Joan the answers she wanted – usually that's what she would want – but he had never really factored in how long she had been sick. How connected she was to the 'visions' she had been seeing.

Sighing he rolled the small, round button through his gloved fingers and placed it onto the almost-completed sculpture. Sparks from the welding caught in the moonlight – which filtered more sharply than it should – cutting through the doorway of his shed and causing the ache behind Adam's eyes to grow as he watched the button succumbed to the heat and began to melt, deforming into something completely different because of the pressure. The intensity.

The button made him think of Joan, and how different she might be after her ordeal. After all, he had never really known the 'real' Joan, only one who was ill. And that scared him more than a little. In the short time he had known her Adam had managed to fall in love with the girl that he knew as 'Jane', no doubt aided by the part she had played in helping him come to terms – just a little – with his mother's death.

Adam had feared that falling for Joan would end up being a bad thing and he was beginning to think that maybe this was the consequence of all the good times she had brought him. She had momentarily stopped the downward spiral of his life, and now she was sick. Just like everyone he loved.

Taking a deep breath he placed the welding equipment down, removed his gloves and took one last look at the remains of the button deciding it looked all wrong now. Trying not to let the bitter look he knew was coating his face seep into his veins Adam swallowed hard and turned out the light, heading inside to try and find some solace in unconsciousness.

* * *

**2 am**

He felt like he had been sitting in the same position for hours – legs numbing slowly with an incessant case of pins and needles – but Will was reluctant to move for fear of waking Helen, who appeared to be sleeping at last. Looking around the cool, pale hospital room he felt a chill climb his spine much too slowly for comfort.

The last time he had been in a hospital room with one of his children for so long a doctor calmly told him and Helen that their son would never walk again. It was not an experience he wished to repeat, and although deep down Will knew he was being irrational there was no other way he could behave when the small body in the hospital bed was his little girl.

That little girl was currently tossing and turning, mumbling in her sleep against the nightmares. It tore him to see her that way, but Will knew there was nothing he could do, even if he woke her up there was no guarantee the visions would go away. The Lyme disease could just bring them into her waking world, and he wanted her to have one safe place in the world, never wanted her to feel like she was under attack when he was near. So he let her sleep.

Just as he was settling back into his position on the couch the shrill ring of his cell phone alerted Will to a call, causing him to jump in the stillness of the dark room.

"Hello?"

After several minutes of conversation which just seemed like buzzing to him Will hung up, shoving the small device back into his pocket and turning toward Helen who was still curled over his left arm.

"Helen…" he nudged her gently.

"Hmmm?"

"I just got a call, I have to go down the station," he explained softly.

"Now? But her test results haven't even come back yet, Will," she protested.

"I know, I just… this is important, they can't do it without me," he stumbled making his way into a standing position.

Gathering his coat Will kissed Helen goodbye before leaving a quick kiss on the forehead of his baby girl and heading out into the blank hospital corridor that buzzed with fractured strip lighting.

Once outside the hospital gates he let out a deep, shuddering sigh making his way towards the parking lot as quickly as he could through the cool, night air.

The truth was the call hadn't actually requested he arrive at the station, it was only to keep him updated. However, if he had to stay any longer in the small white room where his daughter lay dreaming in a fever Will didn't think he could cope. He had to be strong, be there for Helen and the boys, most especially for Joan – and if he didn't take this time to get some perspective, to channel his frustration into something productive, then Will thought he might break down a little. And he didn't have time for that.

* * *

**3 am**

As she felt the loss of Will's form beside her Helen shifted uncomfortably on the stiff hospital couch, rolling her neck awkwardly as she attempted to work out a knot to release some of the tension that plagued her whole body, caused by the gripping fear of her only daughter's unconsciousness.

In reality Helen knew that morning would come and Joan would wake up, but the anticipation of waiting for that to happen, the 'what ifs' that automatically swam around her brain were taking their toll on her. The memories of Kevin's accident only made things worse.

She couldn't help but wonder what side effects there might be to the illness, or the medication that they were flooding her daughter with while she slept. Although they already knew it was Lyme disease the doctors had taken more blood and run some more tests, just to check that there were not any other problems that could be related to the disease.

When the nurse had taken Joan's blood in a small, glass vial the doctor had taken her and Will aside to mention quite casually that the disease was incurable. That it would lie dormant in Joan's system for the rest of her life, if it didn't decide to make a reappearance.

The thought that two of her children would be classed as ill for life sadden Helen. Even if the disease never affected Joan again, it would always be there. Just in the same way that she would be looking for something under the stairs and see something of Kevin's relating to sport. That same slightly bitter taste would bubble under her tongue and Helen would wonder what she had done wrong to make the world feel the need to cause her children such pain.

It was these things that made her faith in God such a complicated matter. She wanted to believe – more than anything else – she wanted to feel like there was someone watching out for her and her family, but that was difficult when things like this slipped through. When she had to spend all night in a hospital room while her sixteen-year-old daughter suffered from night terrors.

Moving to sit on the edge of the bed – which was not clammy from Joan's fever – Helen brushed her fingers lightly through Joan's hair. Skimming the skin in a light, comforting way, trying to coax her away from the things that made her twist and writhe in her sleep.

When Joan quieted slightly, Helen moved back to the sofa, propping her head on the armrest while fighting to keep her eyes open. Failing, slowly, very slowly.

* * *

**4 am**

Glaring heavily at the wall of her bedroom, Grace sat by her desk attempting to quell the anger that was building up inside her small frame. There was a tight, little pulse under her jaw that was threatening to release a sob and if she had any power over it Grace was not going to let that happen. Even all alone in her room.

But Joan was in the hospital, Joan had been sick for months and Grace had only known her for months. Deep down, in a place she would hardly acknowledge herself Grace was a little scared that when Joan got better she would realize her mistake and stop hanging out with a loser like herself.

Gripping the edge of her desk a little tighter she made a conscious effort to get a grasp on her emotions. Grace didn't want to hurt – although more than that – she didn't want anyone to know that she hurt. It didn't fit with her image, and she didn't want her reputation being ruined over another of Joan's flaky stunts. But she also didn't want her best friend to be sick.

If Joan even was her best friend. Grace didn't know. She had known Adam for her whole life – or at least it felt like that – but after his mother died things had changed between them and sometimes – although she cared about him, God forbid anyone find that out – she felt like they only hung out, out of habit. Then Joan had appeared, and for some reason, she had tried her very hardest to break through their respective walls and build some kind of relationship with the pair of misfits.

It all just seemed too easy to Grace. There had to be a catch, because in her experience nobody just wanted to be your friend. There was always a reason, something they wanted, whether that be something from you or to humiliate you. Neither were things she relished.

But Joan had seemed different; she didn't seem to expect anything from Grace and Adam but to live up to their potential and put up with her flaky ways. Sure, in reality that was asking a lot of the pair, but it brought unexpected perks. Like having a friend. And as much as she pretended not to care Grace did not want to lose the only new friend she had made in the past thirteen years.

As the hands on her clock seemed to tick louder and louder past the minutes Grace let her eyes fall closed for a moment, blinking back just the slightest glaze that had formed over them. Clutching her head – which now pounded with sleep-deprivation – she climbed slowly underneath the covers of her bed and tried to force her taut body to accept what few hours of sleep were left in the night.

* * *

**5 am**

The sun hadn't even braved the horizon as Kevin wheeled into the kitchen, looking for breakfast and car keys. The unusual hush that filled the house was unnerving, giving him the feeling that he was being watched as he poured cereal into a bowl and retrieved the milk. Luke was still in bed – both of them having been sent home the night before by their parents – but Kevin had promised himself he would be up early enough to visit Joan before work started.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he focused himself on the task of eating breakfast. It seemed normal, mundane, and that was just what he needed to brace himself for another trip to the hospital. Although most of the time he preferred to be glib about his accident—and the disability it had caused—cold, hard dread still sunk in his stomach when he had to go near a hospital.

But his little sister was there right now, and he couldn't bear to think of her lying in the uncomfortable, sticky bed with only their parents for company, trying to make everything alright, but only managing to come off condescending. Kevin had accepted after his accident that their behavior had only been motivated by how scared for him they were, neither knew what to say to him. And he guessed that the same would be true for Joan, even if she wasn't going to be disfigured or disabled for the rest of her life.

Finishing up the cereal and leaving the bowl on the table to be washed later when there were less important things to do Kevin scrawled a quick note for Luke and headed for the door.

The car turned a corner, heading down the street that would eventually lead him to the hospital about five blocks away. It wasn't that he was especially worried for Joan, the doctors seemed pretty calm, their parents didn't have the same vacant look in their eyes that they had when he had been admitted, but of all the stupid things his little sister could have done getting bitten by a deer tick just about topped them all.

Where were there even deer in Arcadia?

Before he could get properly immersed in the thought Kevin realized that he had somehow ended up in the hospital parking lot, with – of course – a great parking space. Wheeling through the automatic doors, he watched the few people that were up and about during the early hour: nurses stuck in thankless jobs, doctors on call, patients out for an early morning cigarette before the drug trolley came around. These were the only people that his sister had for permanent company.

It made him want to blow off work, screw the paper, and just sit with Joan all day, playing cards or mocking the nurses. He knew she probably wouldn't be well enough to do any of those things, but it didn't make him wish any less that he could be there for her more.

No matter how much he wanted to baby her, he couldn't, she wouldn't let him even if he tried. And Kevin knew that his parents were right; there was no point in putting off his own life – just when it was starting to get back on track – when someone could be with Joan. He could still see her after office hours. It just didn't feel like enough.

* * *

**6 am**

Nothing about this made sense to him. Theoretically he understood the whys and wherefores, but emotionally Luke couldn't understand why – after all the horror his family had been through lately – his sister was sick. It didn't seem fair, and although he realized that things such as the chaos theory would support the idea of things happening randomly and therefore nothing being as organized as 'fair', inside he was only fifteen and he didn't want to see another of his siblings lie in a hospital bed.

The note that had been placed on the kitchen table indicated that Kevin had been gone for almost an hour, and as Luke scoured the fridge for something edible he considered his lack of transport or supervision. Sitting alone at the table made for five or six Luke stared into his orange juice waiting for the toaster to pop, the house seemed so quiet, so empty. Although he often felt like no one was listening to him, at least they were there, but right then the kitchen felt as if it was way too big and his brain was trying to shut off a nagging inside his head that suggested he call Grace.

Luke didn't even know if he knew Grace's number, and he was sure she wouldn't appreciate him finding it out. Still, it was said that in times of crisis we reach out to those we care most about, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he maybe just a little loved Grace Polk. Or, maybe not love, maybe intense 'like'.

After all his body was programmed – as a human – to lust after that of the opposite sex in order for procreation to occur, love only happened after your brain had caught up with your hormones and he was pretty sure that after their one and only kiss his brain would need a lot of time to catch up with the hormones.

The thing that kept his hand for reaching from the phone – except for the very possible threat of physical violence – was the fact that maybe, just maybe the kiss had been fuelled by repressed feelings of frustration from an inability to help Joan in her time of need rather than an attraction to him. He knew what he felt, or at least he was about as sure as he could be taking into account his status as a teenage boy, but the one thing he did not know was how Grace felt.

It made a quiet kind of guilt creep through his body that he was worrying about girls and girlfriends – lack thereof – while his sister was ill. Luke knew the scientific reasons why his mind kept wandering, he knew why Joan's illness was something he would only come back to sporadically. It was fear, but it didn't make him feel any better. In fact it made him feel worse, because he knew the reasons, he should be able to fight them and he wasn't even trying.

A dull metallic clang woke him from his reverie as Luke turned sharply, the toast already growing cold as he reached to pull it from the toaster. Jelly in one hand, toast in the other Luke sighed and realized he would not be calling Grace Polk today and more than that he probably wouldn't be feeling any less guilty about thinking of girls while Joan was sick.

* * *

**7 am**

The small room was an empty void; stretching and turning like an animated creature as she attempted to pry open her swollen eyes. Everything seemed larger, out of proportion, as if she was somehow even more alone because the expanse was greater. There was more distance to cover to somehow get away from the loneliness.

As her groggy mind began to process the shapes and colors distorting in the room Joan felt a wave of nausea sweep over her, leaving her unable to even get as far as lifting her head, let alone sitting up. Moaning slightly she felt a cool, familiar hand stroking her forehead, trying to comfort her as the searing nightmares of her sleep slipped into tepid delusions, the imprint hovering over her vision for a few minutes before melting away and leaving only the pounding pain that hung around her temples.

The sharp pain drilling into her skull dulled as she stopped trying to move her head, allowing it to rest gently on the pillow as she looked to the couch, seeing her mother fast asleep. Her fluttering eyelids let Joan see brief flashes of the figure standing above her, palm pressed softly over her skin, oozing calm and relief.

As she felt her eyes close, Joan felt more alone than she ever had, because she knew in her heart that she wasn't ill. If nobody had believed her and it had only been her illness that had caused the things she had seen to appear, then she could accept that, she could cope. But as the form God had chosen stood over her, watching over her, Joan knew although he had not left her all alone that would simply cause everyone else to do so, giving up on her one by one as they decided she was crazy.

And as she tried to decipher between reality and fever-dreams Joan felt salt-hot tears track her skin, melting away as her eyes closed and unconsciousness took the dilemma away. For a while.


End file.
